


Boogeyman

by Inu_Sama



Series: HP FICS [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Pitch Black (2000)
Genre: BAMF Harry Potter, Bad Ministry, Banishment, Dark Harry Potter, Light-Side bashing, M/M, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inu_Sama/pseuds/Inu_Sama
Summary: "Expecto Patronum!" Instead of the stag that everyone had expected, a large antipodean opaleye dragon burst forth from his wand and started terrorising the battlefield. It roared, shaking the very foundation of Hogwarts.~Destroy! Destroy everything!~ Harry commanded, laughing as he sent the Cruciatus at Amycus Carrow.





	1. Chapter 1

_ When the screaming began, he couldn't stop himself; he cackled. Bellatrix would be so proud. Harry whipped his wand upwards in a sharp arc, sending the Death Eater flying into the fountain. There was a satisfying  _ crunch  _ before Lucius stopped struggling and slumped down into the water.  _

_ The hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose and he quickly threw up a shield behind him. He pitched forward with the impact of a nasty curse slamming against his shield and smirked.  _

_ "Expecto Patronum!" Instead of the stag that everyone had expected, a large antipodean opaleye dragon burst forth from his wand and started terrorising the battlefield. It roared, shaking the very foundation of Hogwarts.  _

_ ~Destroy! Destroy everything!~ Harry commanded, laughing as he sent the Cruciatus at Amycus Carrow. _

 

The court shook themselves out of the memory, leaving the communal pensieve to return to their seats. Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat to cease the nervous murmurings of his cabinet, picking up the scroll with no small amount of glee. It was no secret he didn't like the brat, but thanks to the efforts of the Daily Prophet - and more importantly, Miss Skeeter - neither did anyone else. 

"Harry James Potter, you have been accused of endeavoring to become the next Dark Lord, how do you plead?" Scrimgeour looked down his nose at the most powerful wizard in the world, now that both Dumbledore and Voldemort were dead. 

The boy held too much sway with the populous after he killed the Dark Lord, something that Scrimgeour just couldn't have. He didn't want another Dumbledore meddling in the Ministry. He was not Fudge, he was not going to tolerate it. Harry bared his teeth at the Minister. 

This trial was a farce and they all knew it, they had  _ nothing  _ on him. He stated as much and received only laughter. 

"Mr Potter, we have all the evidence we need to put you away for a  _ long  _ time!" Scrimgeour smirked, not taking his eyes off Harry as he called out, "Bring in the first witness!"

Harry strained against the chains holding him down when he saw who it was. Hermione barely glanced at him as she walked past to the witness stand, the grief over losing Ron still fresh on her face. The High Inquisitor, a stern woman by the name of Gristle, got up from her chair. 

"Miss Granger, please tell the court what happened on the 2nd of May, 1998?" Hermione cleared her throat, not daring to look up from her clenched fingers resting in her lap. 

"W-well, the press is calling it the Battle Of Hogwarts--" Her voice broke and Harry could feel the court soften, he wanted to smack them. 

"Yes? and what happened with Mr Potter?" Gristle urged, impatient that the girl was taking so long. She had several more cases after this and she didn't have time for such weakness. 

"He--he went _ mad! _ " She cried, finally looking up and got caught in the acidic gaze of her best friend - or at least the body of her best friend. No matter how hard she searched, she couldn't find that sweet little boy she'd met on the train all those years ago.

Now there was only the cold gaze of a hunter, the fever of the Black Madness the only spark of warmth she could see. Losing Sirius had changed him, but his stay at Malfoy Manor had truly been his breaking point. 

She just hoped it wasn't too late, that they could still get him some help. With that in mind, she took a deep breath and recounted all she knew of that fateful day, stumbling over her words when she got to the part about Ron. 

"The Harry  _ I _ knew would never have been  _ able  _ to cast the Unforgivables, let alone enjoy it!" The Court gasped and started whispering, though they had seen the memories, it was something else entirely to have it all confirmed by a witness--and by the Boy-Who-Lived's best friend even! 

"This is  _ bullshit! _ It's not like I was the only one to use them! It was  _ war! _ What else was I supposed to do?  _ Rictusempra _ (Tickling Charm) them till the left us alone?! You people are mental!" Harry snarled, thrashing against his restraints in his anger. 

He couldn't believe this! Sure, he might have gotten caught up in the heat of the battle, but they were making a big deal out of nothing! He ended the war and all they can do is point their fingers at him? Like  _ he's  _ the bad guy in this? 

A couple of Aurors come up on either side of him, one grabbed onto his face as his jaw was wrenched open and the other tipped a calming draught down his throat. He wanted to spit it out, they deserved to hear what he had to say! But the one on his right muttered a spell and his mouth closed with an audible  _ click _ . 

He wouldn't be able to open it again until he'd swallowed the potion. He shook the Auror's hands off him and slammed his fist down on the metal armrest. He took a dark satisfaction in the way they jumped.

He glared mutinously at Scrimgeour. It was all this prick's fault. He just wanted Harry out of the way so that he could do whatever he wanted with the Wizarding World. Harry had seen some of the bills Scrimgeour wanted to pass, the inhumane garbage that could come from that man disturbed him. 

The man knew he wouldn't have let him get anywhere near the Wizengamot with that bullshit. Thus, why they were here today. He remembered Fudge had tried to get rid of him too, the only reason Scrimgeour might succeed is that there was no Dumbledore to rescue him. And that the Minister had covered all his bases. 

His gaze slid over to a shaking Hermione and reluctantly, he swallowed the potion. It wouldn't take much to convince Hermione that testifying against him was for his own good, that she was helping him. Scrimgeour wasn't taking any chances, getting even the Hero's own  _ friends  _ to corroborate with this insane story he'd cooked up would be a sure-fire way to get things to go his way. 

Harry was fucked. 

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I think that is all we will be needing from you today." Gristle ushered Hermione over to the Aurors who would escort her out of the room. Harry could feel her concerned gaze on the side of his face, but in a fit of petty revenge, he refused to acknowledge it. 

Then she was gone and he was once again surrounded by unfriendly faces on all sides. He idly wondered what Scrimgeour would do with him, if it would be life in Azkaban or just straight up an AK to the heart. With the calming draught floating through his system, he didn't care what the outcome would be. He'd had enough. Harry closed his eyes and rested his head back against the chair. He was tired, tired of being Fate's stress ball. 

He was sick and tired of how one minute he was the second coming of Merlin and the next, a raging Dark Lord. How he had to, time and again, save their sorry arses without so much as a genuine 'thank you'. He was done. Harry tuned out the rest of the 'trial', their voices becoming a pleasant hum that rose and fell and changed from one person to the next. It was only when someone tapped him on the shoulder that he came back to attention. 

"Mr Potter, You have been proven guilty and now will receive punishment. You will be banished from this realm and sent to Hades, where the Gods will decide what to do with you." Harry could tell Scrimgeour took a lot of pleasure in saying that.

"Take him to the D.O.M!"


	2. Death's Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I had this one half-finished on my computer from the last time I looked at this story so I don't know if it jibes well with the second half that I just did. Anyway, hope you enjoy it.
> 
> P.S. Commenting on my works every now and again reminds me of their existence and I am more likely to write more~ *wink wink*

Harry blinked away the brightness as bulbs of light flashed, reporters practically frothing at the mouth to get his picture. The chains came with him, when he was dragged to the Department of Mysteries. Despite the fact he could only take little steps at a time, the Aurors seemed to be in a hurry to get him there. 

It was as if Scrimgeour was afraid the famous Potter Luck would strike again and he would somehow get free. Harry snorted. Right. His luck ran out the moment Voldemort died, because then he was no longer useful to the Wizarding World.

"Come on, come on! Stop dawdling!" An Auror shouted over the din of the reporters, the obsidian walls amplifying the sound. Harry was jerked harshly and his feet went out from under him. It was only due to the two sets of arms holding him on either side that he didn't smash his face into the ground. 

They met a distraught Hermione in the halls, her thin fingers twisting a tissue between her small hands. She looked up and her eyes widened. 

"W-Where are you taking him?! The transport cells are in the opposite direction!" She flailed, no doubt her mind was running through all the worst-case scenarios--and normally he would think she was overreacting, but now, it really  _ was  _ that bad. He knew what was in the D.O.M and by the look on her face when the guards told her, she remembered too.

"No! No! You were supposed to send him to St Mungo's! That was what we agreed on! Scrimgeour!" Hermione was frantic now, and with good reason. She'd already lost one best friend and now, because of her, she was about to lose the other. Scrimgeour, the slimy bastard, only smiled at her, eyes bright with glee. 

"I'm sorry Miss, but I have no idea what you're talking about." He nodded to the guards behind him, the ones not holding Harry. "Please escort this young lady off the premises, it is clear her grief has clouded her mind." There were falsely sympathetic murmurs behind them from both the cabinet, reporters and other ministry employees that had stopped to watch the spectacle. 

Harry couldn't blame them, this was probably the case of the century, with how high-profile the  _ Saviour-turned-apparent-Dark-Lord _ was. He was sure that they would rush home to tell people about how they'd seen the crazy Potter in the flesh, no doubt making up wild stories of how he'd tried to attack them because they looked at him funny with a _ 'Was lucky to escape with my life' _ kind of line just so they could have their fifteen minutes of fame. 

Harry watched the crowd soak up Scrimgeour's words and was almost glad he wouldn't be around to see the Wizarding World be run into the ground even more than it already was.

"She shouldn't have to see Mr. Potter's execution." The Minister's smile was damn near predatory as he said this and Hermione choked on a sob, a hand over her mouth like she was going to throw up. Hermione sucked in a sharp breath and turned her attention towards her only best friend, the tears running freely down her red cheeks.

"Oh! Harry! I'm so so  _ sorry!  _ I didn't know it would turn out like this! I'm so  _ sorry! _ " She sobbed, voice cracking. He could tell she was genuine in her remorse, but Harry still couldn't bear to look directly at her. His gaze instead settled on his own bare feet and how dirty they were, dark locks falling against his forehead and obscuring the now-faded scar.

Harry was somewhat glad for the Calming Drought they'd given him. With it running through his veins, he was physically incapable of showing any weakness, something he knew the bastard next to him would pounce on like a bloodhound. He could hear her openly crying now as they dragged her back down the hall toward the front doors, and he internally winced. Losing Ron had been a blow, but now...losing both of the only friends she ever had, would break her.

"Are you ready, Potter? To die?" Scrimgeour asked conversationally, hands behind his back as he walked alongside him. He was wearing expensive powder-blue silk robes, a stark contrast to the prison garb Harry had been forced into. It hung off his thin frame awkwardly, not unlike how it had for Sirius. Harry ignored him. He refused to give the asshole any sort of satisfaction in responding, let alone acknowledging his existence.

"Because I bet Miss Granger's not." He continued on callously, a bounce in his step. Harry could easily imagine this being the best day of the bigoted idiot's life. Scrimgeour hummed as Harry was tugged into the circular spinning room with the changing doors that he'd encountered in his sixth year.

"It's kind of ironic, isn't it? That you survived  _ everything  _ the Dark Lord, the Ministry, even  _ Dumbledore,  _ threw at you…" He leaned in to whisper into Harry's ear, the latter not able to move away because of the restraints. 

"Only to be taken down by the very. people. you.  _ saved _ ." he sing-songed as the doors spun around them until it settled on a non-descript black door(like all the others) in front of them. The glee in his voice was like a thick, poisonous gas that wrapped around Harry's head and made it pound with fury. 

He wanted to smack that smug look off his face, maybe do one better and chuck a  _ sectumsempra  _ his way. To give him a permanent grin, if he insisted on having that expression.

When he got no reaction from Harry, Scrimgeour huffed in irritation and straightened out, turning to the door as it opened out into a familiar room the size of a warehouse. 

"Well, whether you see it or not is none of  _ my  _ concern." He side-eyed Harry with a blood thirsty grin. "You'll be off to Hell and out of my way soon enough." Scrimgeour lead the party that had dwindled to the four of them, (Harry, Scrimgeour and two Aurors) none of the others able to access such a high-security area. The silence was a blessing, if a bit eerie, considering the memories Harry had of this place.

They walked among the shelves, their contents glowing faintly in the limited light. He marvelled slightly at the almost seamless restoration the Unspeakables had done to the place after it was trashed in Harry's sixth year. The only evidence were a suspicious cluster of bare shelves that originated from a familiar isle. 

He felt kind of bad for destroying so many prophecies, there were now so many destinies that would never be heard and probably never fulfilled. But then he remembered the absolute  _ shit  _ his life went to because of that damned prophesy and any and all guilt  _ vanished _ . Prophesy never did anyone any good, he was sure of that, at least.

Harry was tugged through another door, through the Hall of Time and into the Death Room. The arch seemed to react to their presence, the Veil of Death swaying more strongly in an imaginary breeze. There was a ritual circle drawn in what looked like blood, in front of it on the black marble floor. To Harry's inward horror, he was shoved into the centre of the circle, an Unspeakable appearing from nowhere and cutting their thumb so they could complete the drawing.

"We're--well, the Unspeakables--are going to bind your magic so you can meet your Maker properly." Scrimgeour grinned again, rubbing his hands together like he was some villain in one of Dudley's cartoons and Harry grit his teeth. After everything they've taken from him--his parents, his happiness, his innocence, his  _ life _ \--they were going to take away the  _ one thing _ he had left, the one thing he cherished more than  _ anything  _ else on this god-forsaken rock?

No way. 

No  _ fucking  _ way was that happening. 

**"I would never let you become vulnerable, Master."** a smooth voice slithered through his mind and he looked around wildly, trying to find the source. But there was none, only Scrimgeour, the Aurors and the Unspeakables who were now muttering under their breaths as they revised the incantations for the ritual.

Throwing caution to the wind, as he so often did, Harry responded to the presence he could now feel in his mind. 

_'What do you mean by that? And why are you calling me master? I don't have a House Elf and that is the only sentient being that would be able to tolerate having a_ ** _human_** _as their master. That is why Scrimgeour will destroy this World, he wants to enslave anyone who isn't a pureblood.'_ Harry spat passionately, glaring at the floor through his fringe. Scrimgeour tried taunting him, but he ignored the idiot. The voice chuckled, sounding... _proud?_

**"Oh, I knew I was right to make you my Master. Child, I am Death. By owning all three Hallows and being of Peverell blood, you have dominion over Death itself."**

Harry tried to process the thought that  _ anyone  _ could master something as eternal and all-powerful as death and shook his head incredulously. Still, he didn't want his magic bound, it was all he had left. 

_ 'Death, don't let them take it. Don't let them take my magic, please!' _ He didn't know if the immortal being would help him(implied mastership or not), but he had to try - even if he never asked for anything else, he  _ needed  _ his magic. It was so intrinsically a part of him that he would surely die without it - if the Veil didn't kill him in the first place.

Though if they were going through the trouble of binding his magic, it must be a portal of some sort instead of an instant kill like the curse that started all this bullshit. But if that were true, just where the fuck were they sending him!?

**"Do not fret, I said I would not let you become vulnerable."** Death said gently, the feeling of icy fingers caressing his heated skin was surprisingly nice and he leaned into it. But all too soon the hand was gone and he was brought out of his thoughts.

"Okay, sir, we're ready now." One of the Unspeakables chirped, a young woman, judging by the voice.The minister nodded and the chanting began, filling the room with magic. He started panicking despite the calming draught as his magic was forcibly pulled out of his core to swirl around him. 

_ 'No,nonononononononono! No! Death!' _ Harry screeched in his mind, struggling against the chains still locking him in place on the ground. The chanting rose and the magic in the air peaked as a pair of silver scissors materialized in the air. His magic was pulled taut against his core and the scissors descended, intending to cut his magic from him like a loose thread on a shirt. He was horrified, how could they do something so disgusting?! How could they take his magic from him?! The magic the Lady herself had gifted him - gifted them all - with?!

A cold thought crossed his mind.  _ 'She must be so disappointed in us, in what we have done with the power she gifted us with.'  _ Harry wanted to throw up, feeling tears brimming his eyes as he watched his magic struggle feebly against the hold the ritual had on it. It was screaming to be let go, to go back into his core where it was safe and loved. He seemed to be the only one to hear its pleas.

The Unspeakables shouted the last verse of the ritual and Harry squeezed his eyes shut as the scissors descended and his magic gave one final terrible scream. 

**"You need to learn to trust me, master."** Death huffed as he materialised in front of him, holding a bright white light tinged with green. Harry immediately recognised it; his magic. It squirmed in Death's hold, trying to get back to him and he sighed in relief.

He tried to reach for it, but he couldn't move his arms and he let out a frustrated sob. 

"Please give it back, Death." He whispered, only then noticing that time seemed to have stopped, the other occupants of the room frozen in various states of accomplishment and glee. Death seemed to look at him in pity(though he wore a hood and Harry couldn't see his face) and crouched down in front of him.

**"You are favoured by more than one deity, I hope you know."** Death said equally as quietly, holding out the squirming ball of light. It squealed and leapt from Death's bony fingers to crash into Harry's chest, sinking below the surface. Warmth filled Harry from the bottom of his feet to the tips of his fingers and he sighed, feeling complete again.

"Thank you," He whispered over and over, trying not to cry. He had never feared death, no, what he feared was losing this - this warmth. It had always protected him, always been with him. His magic had never turned on him, unlike some he could name.

**"Do not thank me, I still cannot control where these…"** Death looked at Scrimgeour and growled quietly in disgust.  **"** **_Maggots_ ** **will send you. You could very well go beyond Our reach, you would be on your own."** Death warned and Harry looked up to see him fading as time slowly sped up. Harry smiled bitterly at the eternal entity, who was almost completely transparent now.

"Aren't I always on my own in the end?" He asked rhetorically and bowed his head to the fate he knew was now inescapable.

When time returned to normal and Death was gone, the final part of the ritual dissipated and he was thrown, rather unceremoniously, into the Veil of Death.


End file.
